


her life was cold and dark, yet she was unafraid.

by mystrongestsuit



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystrongestsuit/pseuds/mystrongestsuit
Summary: Éponine Thenardier goes to group therapy. She hates it, as evidenced by the fact that she has never spoken a word to the room, not once.Until now.This is what she says.





	her life was cold and dark, yet she was unafraid.

**Author's Note:**

> a self-insert, entirely cathartic
> 
> trigger warning for eating disorders!
> 
> comments and criticism welcome, if you also have an eating disorder and found this inaccurate or harmful let me know and I'll try to fix it.
> 
> title from little fall of rain.
> 
> also, I might continue this series as a Les Amis group therapy type thing, let me know in the comments if you think that's worth writing.

Eponine Thenardier speaks to the circle. She hides behind a pair of large sunglasses, though she is inside a dark room filled with people she has seen at their most vulnerable. She will not grant them the same privilege they have granted her, she promises herself, pushing the glasses up her nose.  
“As far back as i can remember from the start of my”, she pauses, “eating problems, I’ve had this vision of how I’m going to die. I can see it all the time, and I don’t have a choice in whether it happens or not.”  
The circle looks at her pityingly, understandingly, emptily. Her heart shatters a little in her chest.  
“It’s always the same: I eat so much that i just fucking kill myself.” Her voice breaks, but she continues, looking steadfastly at the wall. “And yeah, i’ve got problems, but I don’t actually want to die. That's why this is so scary; it’s not just two pounds, it’s life or death.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “Is this the time I kill myself? How much longer do I have?” 

The circle moves on; another girl speaks; Eponine wipes her face and sits up straighter.  
This is what her life is. Hell.  
She spends her nights praying that she’ll be strong enough the next day to push this off a little longer, living in fear of what’ll happen when she can’t push anymore. Sobbing for hours, wanting everything to be over, wanting to pull the skin from her bones and the scissors from her drawer. Her room is full of mirrors, all of them unkind.  
She has a perpetual stomach-ache and her mouth always tastes like sugar. It’s nauseating.  
She doesn’t even feel like a real person anymore.  
Everything hurts so fucking much.  
Every time she eats, she knows she’ll never be able to eat the same food again in comfort and in safety. It’s poisoned, tainted; every sensation will remind her of a heavy feeling she couldn’t vomit out even if she tried.  
She wishes for something to give her the high of self-destruction she craves, yearning for the knives in her kitchen and sex, kisses that cannot fall on her skin until she loses thirty pounds .  
And how can she do anything but try to starve, when that’s the only way out? How can she choose to be happy, choose to end this, when the only meaning happiness has in her mind now is bones and gaps? How do you make people notice you when all you want is to be smaller? How do you make people want you when you don’t want yourself?  
She has spent years asking herself these questions. 

How do you get a happy ending when all you want is to lock yourself in your room until your ribs stick out and your brain stops driving itself insane? 

The answer is.

You don’t.


End file.
